Pudge
by dimpleforyourthoughts
Summary: Sam notices that Dean's got just a little bit of pudge on his belly. Sam kind of likes it. fluffy, fun Wincest. R&R?


**Author's Note: Written for the prompt pudgy!Dean and Sam smut. please read and review, and be warned, this get's a little graphics, lots of Wincest!**

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Sam doesn't notice it at first, because between Purgatory and chasing around prophets and demons and wearing medieval costumes, they haven't had much time for scoping out the things that have changed about them, both emotionally and physically. Things are good with them, have been good since he left Amelia and Dean left Benny and they're good, on the same track in ways that they haven't been in months.

But Sam doesn't notice at first, until one morning Dean gets up and pads over to the shower, shrugging out of Sam's oversized t-shirt and muttering about Sam being a grabby cuddler and when he lifts up his shirt Sam stares.

He thinks maybe he's seeing things, maybe it's a trick of the light or maybe he's just bleary eyed with sleep, but when Dean pads back out of the shower, there it is, just above the towel wrapped precariously around Dean's waist, water droplets sliding off of it to the floor as Dean roots through their bags for a clean shirt.

Sam smiles to himself, shakes his head and get's up. Doesn't say a word.

Besides, it's cute. Because of all people in the world who would have thought that the womanizing, monster-killing, I-can-cuss-you-out-of-here-twelve-ways-from-Sunday Dean Winchester would have _pudge_ on his stomach?

He tries not to say anything, he really does. But one night things are well under way and Sam's riding Dean fast and hard and Sam reaches down and just grips Dean's love handles. He's into it, they're right there, it's more than convenient, and Sam's got to admit it feels good to grab and hold on.

Dean stops, freezes.

"What are you doing?" He asks, voice a shot in the dark and eyes suddenly wide.

"I—" Sam stops. He doesn't really know how to explain the slight obsession he's had with Dean's belly the last two weeks. Doesn't know how to explain that he's lived for those moments when Dean yawns and stretches so his shirt rides up to show a few inches of skin that looks a little bit squishy and a little bit soft and Sam wants to sink his fingers in to it. Doesn't know that Sam gets this really really sick kick out of watching Dean eat pie or fries or a burger because he knows straight where that food is going and it's delightful.

Because for the entire tough exterior that is his brother, for all the gruff sentences and brushed-off emotions and you-think-you-understand-what-pain-is-but-you-don't-I-do personality that is his brother, Sam tends to like the softer parts of the interior the most.

Not that he will ever admit this to Dean. Ever.

"Just got carried away in the moment," Sam pants, rolls his hips in a maneuver to distract Dean from the situation at hand, "Won't happen again. Sorry."

Sam's correct in thinking that Dean's got a one track mind with this whole brother-fucking thing. It works out perfectly in his advantage, because Dean groans and hooks his knee around Sam so as to roll them both over and truly pound into him.

Distraction works. For a while.

But another two weeks later they're at this again, and Sam's getting so distracted because Dean's tummy is just calling at him and it's so endearing that he spends a little _too _much time kissing his way down Dean's torso and Dean notices it immediately. Because five minutes ago everything was fast and hurried and 'take your clothes off now, Dean I swear to god' and now Sam's taking his own sweet time.

So yeah, forgive Dean for being a little irritated.

"Okay, what is up with you?" Dean grabs Sam's jaw and pulls him up so they're face to face. "You've been weird about my midriff for weeks now, Sam, what is it? Do I have a birth mark or something? Or are you just going through a kinky phase?"

And the damndest thing is, maybe this is a kink, Sam muses. Maybe he's a sick fuck and he needs to stop and he needs to take a step back and reevaluate his choices. Maybe he's got a lot more issues aside from the gay incest thing.

Or maybe it's Dean.

Maybe after months of feeling like his older brother is untouchable, is hard and cold and cut off after months in Purgatory, it just feels nice now that Sam can finally touch, and it's great, perfect even. And maybe the things Sam wants to touch are not Dean's calves of granite, or Dean's Adonis cheekbones or Dean's bony knees and elbows. Maybe the things Sam wants to touch are the vulnerable and intimate parts of Dean. Maybe he wants tongue that sweet spot just behind Dean's earlobe, tickle the sensitive soles of Dean's feet when they wake up in the morning and Dean's sprawled all over him, and yeah, nuzzle at the chubby tummy that Dean seems to have acquired in his mission to inhale as much American Diner food as possible since his year-long-hiatus from anything appetizing.

So yeah, maybe Sam's got a kink.

But like hell if he's not gonna show Dean how fun that kink can be.

"Sorry." Sam sighs, breathes, against Dean's skin. "Guess I'm a chubby chaser."

"Are you calling me fat?" Dean's tone is decidedly snippy, but his eyes are guarded, like he isn't exactly sure what to make of this situation because usually Dean is the one making fun of Sam in bed, calling him a total bottom or a whiny bitch or a cock slut just because he can, just because he knows Sam will let him, just because he knows Sam loves it.

"No." Sam assures, surging up to meet Dean's lips and it tastes the same as always, and maybe Dean's lips are chapped and maybe Sam can still taste the bacon cheese burger and chocolate shake Dean ate a few hours back, but it's Dean, through and through. "Never. I just. I like your pudge. It's cute."

"Sam," Dean wheedles, chuffing affectionately at Sam's head, half-heartedly tugging at Sam's hair because he is embarrassed and he is vulnerable and that's not something he is a lot of the time with anyone, even with Sam. "You're an ass."

"At least you know why now," Sam's lips curve as he kisses Dean again, then swoops to that one sweet spot behind Dean's ear, "I can't exactly explain it. But I just want to lick," he swirls his tongue on that spot, Dean gasps, "Bite," he scrapes his teeth on that spot and Dean bucks, "And suck" he latches his lips on to that spot and grabs Sam's shoulders in a strangled attempt to get him to stop, go, do something more, "Every part of your belly."

"Oh really." Dean's grinning, and any signs of unease or insecurity that rested in his eyes moments before are now gone, and he now just looks torn between throwing Sam on the mattress and fucking him fast and hard, and waiting to see just what Sam's gonna do next. "You gonna put your money where your mouth is, Sammy?"

It's always a guessing game with the two of them, like sparring, each trying to figure out what the other's sneaky sex maneuver is and thwarting it. They challenge each other, make each other feint and dodge and parry like two master swordsman, battling through lips and teeth and tongue and touch to see who will be champion first.

And somehow, both of them win, each and every time.

"Or maybe I'll just put my mouth where the money is." Sam retorts, and begins his descent down from Dean's body, tracing a line of licks and strokes down Dean's neck and pectorals until he meets with Dean's tummy and he finds himself laughing softly, despite himself.

Dean's enjoying this, of course he is, and soon his exasperated 'Shut up Sammy's morph in to a haphazard monologue of swear words and groans and 'Come on Sammy's and this really is the most fun Sam has had in a while.

"You are one great big perv, I hope you know that—" Dean's words are cut off as he throws his head back on the pillow, because Sam's hand just fisted around his cock and Sam's lips are latched under Dean's ribs and try as he might to deny it Dean fucking _loves _it.

"I can't help it," Sam smiles in to Dean's skin, biting, licking, wanting to mark Dean's belly and mark Dean's thighs and mark Dean so he walks around the rest of the week with little Seals of Approval from Sam's mouth. 'This Ass has been FDA tested and approved by Sam Winchester'. He laughs wetly into Dean's hip, and Dean mistakes it for laughing at him until Sam drags his tongue in a stripe up the groove of Dean's hip and Dean moan's loudly, "It's just. So. Damn. Cute."

"Shut up." Dean snaps, or tries to snap, but he's too busy pushing his hips up against Sam's face and gripping Sam's hair.

Sam does shut up, and shuts Dean up as well, the split second he takes Dean's cock in his mouth, and Dean's surrounded by all things hot and wet and wanting and _Sam_. Dean tries to keep his eyes open, but any time he chances a glance down at his brother is a time he's met face to face with hooded eye lids that are worshipping and the sight of large hands stroking down his thighs and brushing his balls in a way that makes Dean want to bite his own tongue off it's so fucking hot. Dean calls Sam names, calls him a slut and a perv and a bastard and dead man, but nothing he says makes Sam stop, makes Sam slow down, makes Sam stop fucking _looking _at him, all incinerating hazel and dilated pupils.

Sam licks and sucks at Dean's cock, like he's got something to prove, like he's got someone to impress, and between the way he's touching Dean and the way he's looking at Dean and the way he's surrounding Dean, Dean is nearly shouting with how close he is and how badly he wants to come. He's not sure if that sentiment is communicated in the endless amount of filth spilling out of his mouth, but with the way Sam tongues the slit of Dean's dick, the way he smiles slightly when Dean's hips rise off the mattress in a wave, well, Dean's starting to think that Sam gets the message anyways.

It's not until Sam lays a hand on Dean's belly, however, and pushes him down into the mattress, and sucks his cock all the way down until Sam's throat is fluttering around the head that Dean truly loses it. And funnily enough, the final straw isn't the obscene way Sam is deep-throating him, isn't the way Sam is looking at him with eyes that crave approval, eyes that confirm that even though Sam is the one holding the reigns, Dean is still in control, isn't even the way the slurp and lather sound of Sam's mouth on his cock sounds in the quiet of the motel room.

No, instead, it's the gentle stroking thumb on Dean's stomach, a stomach that isn't chiseled abs of steel or firm pectorals, a stomach that could probably use a good cleansing diet, if Dean was in to that kind of shit. That one thumb strokes along Dean's tummy, loving and affectionate and sweet as Sam holds Dean down, conveying exactly what Sam's been trying to say all this time, something along the line of every movie cliché Dean's ever heard from _I love you_ to _you're perfect just the way you _are to _I'm just a brother standing in front of his brother asking him to love him_ and Dean just fucking _loses it._

He comes, vision whiting out instantly and thighs shaking and moaning loud and wantonly in a way that would be embarrassing if Dean wasn't so fucking gone already that he couldn't give two shits if everyone with a square mile radius heard the sounds and swears pouring out of his mouth.

He comes, and that one thumb continues to stroke along his belly, coarse and gentle and it's both the best and worst thing that's ever happened to Dean.

Sam swallows Dean's come, and if he chokes a little bit Dean doesn't tease him for it, because things are good and it's been so long since they were this good. Sam swallows Dean's come and continues to swirl his tongue lazily around Dean's spent and sensitive cock, biting back a shark-grin as Dean trembles with aftershocks, and Dean wonders for a moment if he could seal off this moment and keep it forever, because there's a fuzzy relaxed sensation pooling throughout his worn out body and he doesn't want it to ever leave his bloodstream.

When his little brother finally sits up and releases Dean's cock, Dean's struck with an image so pornographic he goes half hard in a nanosecond. Sam, looming over Dean, Sam touching Dean's stomach slowly, almost reverently, and Sam, a dribble of come smeared on his lips and grinning like a kid who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Like he didn't just blow Dean to kingdom come, like he didn't just nuzzle every bit of Dean's body, like he didn't just turn Dean inside out in a way Dean totally didn't see coming.

"You got a little something there." Dean smirks and rises up to meet Sam but Sam's beat him to it, their lips meeting in a half bruising kiss so Dean can lick the taste of himself out of Sam's mouth and Sam can breathe in and feel and love his brother.

They crash against the pillows, Dean's chest still rising and falling rather rapidly because_holy fuck. _Sam lies beside him, the biggest smuggest goddamn grin on his face as he snarks, "Take your time old man. I've got all night to sit here and be hard, really, don't mind me."

And so Dean pounces on Sam, and yeah, maybe he's a little tired and little pudgy but like_hell _he's gonna let Sammy use the age and stamina insult.

"I'll show you old man," Dean growls, pinning Sam's hips to the pillow and reciprocating everything Sam was willing to offer up in the first place. Their playful banter and post-coital pillow talk is lost amongst the mesh of wet lips and slick heat and damp breaths between them in the dark of the motel room.

Dean makes Sam come three times that night.

Just because he can.


End file.
